


Damn Your Eyes

by IllusiveWritings



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Dates, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Paris (City), Reincarnation, Self-Doubt, Sex, Snow, Trickster Gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusiveWritings/pseuds/IllusiveWritings
Summary: He dropped in her life like a bomb, wrecking havoc in her precarious routine. Now Diana has to face the ghosts of her past, one hundred years of unsolved grieving and a constant heartache that never left. Is this the machination of cruel and threacherous Gods or just the strange workings of human genetics?Whatever the cause, Diana never thought she would ever see those damn blue eyes again.





	Damn Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Damn Your Eyes" by Etta James, from her album "The Seven Year Itch" released in 1988, but I have to say I'm partial to Luce Dufault's version, specifically, this one https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KVyorYFcXg. Feel free to take a listen. Unbetaed. Mistakes are bound to be there, since I suck at editing. Sorry about them.  
> Hope you guys enjoy this!  
> BTW, this is completely separated from "The Quantum Particle Of Love", it's just my way of testing some canon compliant ways to get Steve back, one way or another, in the vain hope that someone involved in the DC Universe might read this and decide to incorporate something like this in a future movie. Wishful thinking...

Never in the past one hundred years, Diana had thought she would say she hated someone. More specifically, she would have never thought she would hate someone’s eyes. And yet, there she was, staring at the man sleeping in her bed and cursing him for something he had no power on. 

Oh, Etta James had sung it so well... 

That man had plunged in her life in the most normal way, kind and polite, all smiles and courtesies, from a place she’d never expected anything good would come, and still, in some ways, she was loathing him for all the wrong reasons. He had done nothing to hurt her, not knowingly at least, for Hera’s sake! 

And yet...

Steven Howard Trevor, US Air Force Captain, dogfighter, recon specialist, A.R.G.U.S. affiliated and last but not least official liaison of the Justice League for the Government of the United States. 

As of a few hours, her lover too. 

Worried out of his mind, Bruce immediately ran a background check on him, and it turned out he was a distant relative of  _ her _ Steve Trevor, a descendant of a paternal uncle, but that didn’t explain why he looked like him, from the dark blond hair to the slightly graying beard on his chin, but most importantly, his eyes. The same deep blue eyes, the color she had seen only in the seas surrounding Themyscira, in its clean sky, the blue that haunted her dreams since 1918. 

Seeing them again, when General Swanick had introduced him to the League, was felt like someone had stabbed her with a red hot blade, straight through her chest. The moment he had stepped in front of her to greet her and shake her hand, Diana had felt like her heart been ripped out of her ribcage and crushed. Even his voice, it was the same. His smile, the way he shook her hand, how he pushed a rogue strand of hair away from his eyes, the same. 

Only the memories weren’t there. 

He didn’t know her, he had no idea of her history, of the time she had shared with his long gone ancestor, of the ties that had bound them, the feelings they had for each other, the brief spark of joy they had shared together in cold trenches and snowy plazas. And damn those eyes, they were resurfacing again, all of them. The memories, the feelings, the pain and the never elaborated grief, everything. She had thought she had buried them, deep down in her memory, but now… 

She had no idea how to deal with it. He was  _ him _ , but at the same time, he wasn’t. He was a ghost, but in flesh and blood. 

She was so used to being in complete control, to do what she wanted even when it came to the scant number of personal relationships she had in the past, but this time… her mind was a complete blank. 

He was Steve, but at the same time he wasn’t, and she was so confused that sometimes she felt short of breath. Even now, in the safety of her bedroom, in the privacy of her own thoughts, that man was creating havoc in her. It was one of the few times in her life when Diana didn’t really know what to do. He had sneaked his way in her life in the most gallant way, almost shy as he asked her out for a coffee at the end of the meeting with Waller. 

She had asked him why a personal outing with her and not with Bruce or Clark, and his answer had simply floored her: he had asked her out because she was the only one in the room that didn’t have a murderous look in their eyes. And truth be told, it was true. Bruce hadn’t taken well A.R.G.U.S. intervention in the League’s affairs, most of all because he knew Waller had access to all of Luthor’s metahuman data and knew details of their lives that could ruin them, same went for Clark who, after having been resurrected, didn’t want to meddle with power-hungry politicians, with trigger-happy fingers and an inclination for blackmail. 

To his credit though, this version of Steve Trevor had made it clear that he had no intention to be a nuisance and to hinder their jobs, even withstood an extensive interrogation by Bruce while being tied with her Lasso, own his own accord, how could she refuse his invitation after he had done so much to try and reassure the whole League he wouldn’t mess things up?

* * *

First it was coffee and official business, in a small artisanal bakery downtown in Metropolis. Diagrams, official documents and the such, they talked about his involvement with the League, what he would report to A.R.G.U.S., his additional ties to the United Nations and how he would act with them too. He was polite, he was concise, very military-like, almost distant. While difficult for her, she had made it through the meeting almost unscathed, despite all the memories he had of  _ her _ Steve unfurling in her mind. 

A couple of weeks later came another invite, still for official motives, this time for lunch in Gotham. She was there on business for the Louvre, she had really no reason to turn it down. Again, it was official documents, risk charts and diagrams, also a detailed plan he had devised to keep everyone’s personal identity protected, even a contingency plan in case Waller went rogue and threatened them in any way. He was really trying to make himself useful as an adjunct to the League, not only someone put there to spy on them. 

It was all so formal and business related that for a moment, Diana had forgot that she was talking to Steve’s doppelganger. Sure, every time he smiled for whatever reason she felt her heart skip a few beats and her throat constrict to the point she couldn’t breathe, but she could deal with it. She had dealt with it for a century, putting up with the memories and sometimes the hallucinations, how hard could it be, dealing with an actual carbon copy, down the last name, of the love of her life? Sure, it would have been easier if he hadn’t been so damn like his ancestor, but she would make do.

That changed when she went back to Paris. Apart for the occasional email or text message here and there, for a good month their relationship was pretty much put in ice and nearly forgotten, until one late afternoon. Her assistant, Sofie, knocked on the door of her office as she was taking care of some artifacts that needed an evaluation for the museum. “Diana?” she called from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“There’s someone here to see you, but he doesn’t have an appointment. Says he’s a friend from the States. A certain Steve Trevor, he said. Should I let him pass?” 

A thick lump formed in her throat and she found herself clenching her fingers in a white knuckled grip from the surprise. “Oh, yes, sure, let him pass. I was almost done anyway. You can go home, don’t stay late because of me.”

The girl nodded. “Thanks Diana.” 

“No problem. And say hi to Mathieu from me!”

“Will do. We’re having a birthday party for him, next week, you should come if you have some spare time.” 

Diana smiled. Mathieu was one smart child, fascinated by everything inside the museum, he loved history and most of all art, despite the stark age difference, she did enjoy the company of the nearly eight year old boy. “I’ll try my best to be there. Send me the details, I’ll see if I can come.”

“Sure, Diana. By the way…” she suddenly lowered her voice. “He’s cute!”

When her assistant left, she took a moment to breathe and steady herself, before he walked in. She even opened one of the drawers of her desk and fished out a print of the daguerreotype she kept in there, almost as a talisman. “What should I do with you?” she whispered at the faded image of Steve Trevor Senior. “You keep crashing in my life with no regards at all…” 

She put it down when he knocked on the door, and shut the drawer. “May I come in?” he asked.

“Sure, come in.” She stood and shook his hand. “Please, take a seat. What brings you to Paris?” 

“Uhm, official A.R.G.U.S. business in Bruxelles. It’s a short train ride from Paris so I thought I could pay a visit, I mean, I’ve never been in Paris so…”

“Two birds with one stone, I see. How did you went through security to this area? It’s very tight.” 

It was strange to see him in civilian clothes, so used she was to see him wearing a uniform. She had to admit that the faded blue jeans and the thin, tight grey sweater looked good on him. 

“Oh well, a smile or two, some charme and a US military badge work wonders. So, this is how you earn a living?” he asked as he looked around. He looked like a child in a toy store. For a moment, she wondered what would  _ her _ Steve thought about her day job. 

“Yes, this is how I earn a living. It’s an honest job after all, and it keeps me entertained. Also, it reminds me of home so…” 

“Well, I’ve been wandering through the halls of the museum ever since it opened this morning and I have to say you all do an amazing job. This place is awesome. Been working here long?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Six years, almost seven, but I’ve been head of the department for two. Where are you staying?” 

“In a hotel near the Gare Du Nord. I arrived with the last train from Bruxelles yesterday, it was the first place I found that had a room in the area. A.R.G.U.S.’s paying.” 

“Ah well, now I see. Impromptu trips to Paris aren’t cheap these days!” she exclaimed with a chuckle. “So? You’ve seen the Louvre today, what are you planning to see later?” 

“Well,” he started, leaning back on the chair. “I was kind of hoping you would show me around. You sure know the place better than me and I have to say that being a tourist by myself is kind of boring. I have become very close to the lady of Google Maps, but it’s not the same.”

He had the same look of wonder in his eyes the other Steve had when she had told him the story of the War Of The Gods, during their trip to London, on that boat. Gods, she had missed that smile, seeing it again felt like a gust of fresh air in a stale room. And he was asking her out, and he had no official reasons to do so, she would have seen that smile and those eyes all night, if she wanted. Point was, could she resist all that time, without getting crushed by grief?

“Yes, it’s not the same. Well, let me finish with this then we’ll see where to go. It’s already dark, but Paris has its own particular charm at night.”

* * *

The whole night, no matter how hard she tried, her breath had been cut short. This Steve Trevor was just as charming as the other one, with a few more contemporary quirks that did nothing except amuse her more. He was more relaxed this time, not so shut off by the official reasons of their past meetings. He was just an open book to her, both in body language and, to her surprise, to her questions. She asked, he answered, no matter the subject. Family, friends, previous occupations in the Air Force, his deployments in Afghanistan and Iraq, more recently Quran. He told her that it was just right, if he got to know the littlest details about the Justice League, it was correct that the League knew about his own history, even the secret missions. 

She took him on a short tour of the city center, Notre Dame and the Tour Eiffel and other close tourist attraction, until he whined that he was hungry. She took him to a small restaurant and there’s where he spilled the beans. His honesty, combined with the serious tone of his voice, suddenly dragged her back in time, that night at the airstrip, when Steve,  _ her  _ Steve, tried to talk her out of giving up. He was as exasperated, but the seriousness of his voice got to her, digging up one of the worst memories of her life. 

There were times, during dinner, that she had felt like she was about to get crushed by memories. It was too much, too soon, too fast. Diana couldn’t even blame him for lack of mercy, he wore the face of his long deceased relative for the Gods knew what reason, but he lacked his memories, he couldn’t know. And yet…

They finally reached the end of their meal, with only an empty bottle of red wine resting between them and only a glass of cognac each remaining. Conversation had slowed down a little bit, and while it didn’t linger, the rhythm had changed, it had become more personal and less work related. He was talking about his family, his upbringing and such, growing more and more thoughtful as he spoke, mostly of his father. He was strangely somber, as he spoke of his parent, he had a look on his face that she didn’t like much. It made him look older than his 35 years of age, his face twisted in a grin she couldn’t exactly understand if it was caused by grief or something else. He kept referring to his father in present tense so he wasn’t dead, but by the way he talked about him, it felt like his father was dead  _ to _ him. She felt it was time to change subject.

She exploited a brief moment of silence to change subject, and she had the right question for a radical change.

“Captain Trevor…” 

“Please, call me Steve. I think we’re beyond that.” 

“Then please, call me Diana. Steve… I admit it was a delightful evening and that I truly enjoy your company, I’m very curious about your motivations. Why exactly are you here?” 

He huffed a little bit, grasped the stem of the glass of cognac and took a short sip of the liquor. “Because I enjoy your company too, Diana. And because I have to admit… being alone in a foreign country, dealing with politicians who could possibly be as crooked as they can get, about issues that… I’ll be honest here, issues that to me could be resolved with some good old common sense, and I just wanted to see a friendly face, that’s it,” he explained. “Is it a crime?” 

“No of course not,” she replied, shaking her head. “I was just curious. We’ve been talking for hours, about everything and then some, but you haven’t mentioned anything about my other…”

“Your other occupation? Because I don’t care about it. I can read about everywhere, anytime. Who else has the opportunity to get to know the person behind the myth? Wonder Woman,” he said the name in a low voice, almost reverential. “... she’s amazing. I mean… she is, but what about the woman that wears the armor and bears the sword and shield… she’s an unsung hero to me. Like, I bet everyone out there thinks that superheroes are superheroes every waking moment of their lives, they give them for granted. My job gives me the opportunity to get to know who’s behind the cape, and to be sincere, I’m more interested in that.” 

“Uh, interesting point of view.” 

“Thank you. You’ve been around for a long time, you’ve seen some of the worst expression of humanity, you’ve fought to fix our fuck ups, some of them so terrible I feel bad as a human being, even though personally I had nothing to do with that, or my family for all I know…”

_ If you only knew… _

“...and yet you still protect us? Your patience goes way above and beyond my own, I would have probably table flipped something and declared  _ fuck this shit I’m out _ after World War Two.” 

“There were moments I thought about…  _ table flipping _ something, that’s true!” she chuckled and took a sip of her own cognac. “But this is the reason I was born. To protect humanity, from itself, if need arises.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed. “I’m interested in this, on what gets you guys going, where do you find the hope to fight for humanity when humanity as a whole has lost it!”

Diana felt like he had punched her in the stomach. She was torn between hiding her face in her hands and punch him back, for real this time. How could she tell him that she got hope from a dead relative of his, a man that had stolen her soul and had blown himself up to save humanity years of gruesome war, an act of selfless sacrifice that had changed the destinies of thousands, if not millions of people. An unsung act that no one knew about. 

His eyes sparkled, as he talked about hope. Like  _ her _ Steve.

“You see… a long time ago I met someone, someone who was very dear to me. During The Great War. He was determined to stop the massacre, he didn’t care about his life, all he wanted was to stop the war, end the slaughter where he had lost too many friends. And doing so, he lost his life. He did it because he hoped that humanity could be better. I carry the same hope with me, I know that humanity can be better than this, because I see it every day. In the teachers that do their best to educate the next generations, in the same children that walk in the halls of the museum, I have hope that one day, they will be better people than what we are today.”

“There are worse places to find hope in,” he said with a smile. 

When they left the restaurant, a cold wind blew from the north, making him shiver despite the thick coat. “Uh, feels like home, only closer to the sea.” 

“Yes, the wind can be hersh around here,” she answered, pulling the lapels of her own coat up to cover her neck and cheeks.

“How far is your place?” asked Steve. “I’ll walk you there.” 

“Steve, that’s very sweet of yo but…” 

“No buts, Diana. It may be 2018 but gentlemen haven’t all died, smothered by Tinder and other apps like those. Let me be a little old fashioned and walk you home.” 

_ If you ask me to dance and it starts snowing I swear I’m… _

She never got to finish the thought, because he started talking again. “Also, I need to some help for the digestion to kick in, that quiche tasted heavenly but dear Lord how much butter was in there?” 

And with a simultaneous laugh, they started walking.

It took them a while to reach her apartment, time they spent chatting of inconsequential things, like the weather and the tourists at the museum. They also talked about his visit, early that day, what he had liked and what he hadn’t liked, and one step after the other, they finally arrived at the front door. Gods, she so wanted to invite him up…

“Here we are…”

“Uh, great. Guess it’s time for me to get more intimate with the Google Maps Lady!” he exclaimed, and his smile threatened to melt her. “Goodbye, Diana. It was a pleasure.” 

They shook hands and in truly French fashion, she gently pulled him closer and kissed his cheek. “Likewise, Steve. Call me, if you’re around again.”

“Will do. Also, call me if you’re in the US again.” 

One last smile and he turned and started walking down the street, shoulders hunched and hands pushed deep in the pockets of his coat to ward off the cold wind. It was like seeing a ghost. 

As she observed him walking away, Diana found herself literally shaking with the effort of not calling him back. She so wanted to call his name and invite him up, just to spend some more time with him. It didn’t matter if they spent that time just talking, it was more than enough. True, he didn’t have Steve’s memories, but the two were so alike, despite being displaced 100 years apart, that it felt like having him back. And even if it was only for a night… she could live with her own deception, if it meant she could look into those eyes one more time. 

_...I would have probably table flipped something…  _ he had said, just a couple of hours earlier. It had been a long time since she had  _ table flipped _ , or simply let her heart decide. Ever since that day in Trafalgar Square, during the celebration for the end of the war, when she had said her final goodbye to him, she had always kept absolute control over her emotions.

But tonight… 

_ Well fuck… _ “Steve!” she called and he immediately turned towards her. “Want to come up? For coffee or something?” 

Even at that distance, in the dim light of the scattered lamp post, she could see he was smiling. “I’d love to, Diana.” 

* * *

The sense of deja vù was almost too much. The slow walk up the stairs, holding his warm hand tight, guiding him to her apartment. The slow turn of the key in the lock, the soft click of the mechanisms and the hiss of the hinges as she pushed the heavy wooden door open and let him in, it didn’t matter where they were, it was that night in Veld all over again. Her breath caught in her throat when he closed the door behind him and looked up at her, a flash of light from outside reflecting in his eyes. Just like the dim light of the old lightbulbs in that tiny room in Belgium. 

His fingers let go of her hand and travelled up her arm to cup her jaw and a long shiver ran down her spine when the calloused pad of his thumb traced an invisible line on her cheek. “I wish you’d let me kiss you,” he whispered.

“Go on” she replied, breathless. “Just… do it now before I change my mind.” 

He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, his lips against hers in an instant, and the whole world went black around her. There was only him, his hands on her, his warmth surrounding her body like a familiar embrace, all too similar but yet so incredibly different and new it boggled her mind. 

“I’ve dreamed of this…” he murmured, untying the belt of her coat. “So many times since I met you, Diana…” 

“No, Steve…” she gasped when his hands slipped beneath her blouse. “Don’t talk. Not now…” 

“Yes Ma’am...” He pushed her coat off her shoulders and quickly took off his own. “Where’s the bedroom?” he asked while Diana pulled his thick sweater

“This way…” Diana slipped her fingers in the hem of his jeans and started pulling him towards the room.  _ Gods, I want him so bad… _

“Hey, calm down!” he chuckled. “We’ve got time.” 

“We’ve wasted too much anyway.” 

With a soft grunt and a smile, he slid his hands behind her thighs and pulled her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I don’t like rushing things,” he whispered against his neck, sending another wave of shivers through her body. “And I like even less rushing sex.” 

The sense of deja vù returned.  _ Her  _ Steve had said something very similar, that night, as he reverentially unbuckled every single tie of her armor, the same way  _ this _ Steve was taking her clothes off with extreme care and something else she could only describe as a mix of reverence and adoration. He deftly undid every single button of her pale blue shirt before sliding it off her arms as he made his way to the bedroom. He moved with such an ease, even in unknown surroundings, that she wondered what kind of training had shaped his spatial awareness. A random thought she quickly forgot when he gave her a gentle bite on the neck, as he turned around and sat at the foot of her bed. The moment her knees touched the mattress, she leaned back just enough to yank his sweater off, then she tried to concentrate on undoing the button of his jeans and the zipper, but fine movements were becoming increasingly difficult, and Steve wasn’t making it any easier for her.

“Where have you been all my life?” he whispered against her lips.

_ Waiting on a miracle… _ she thought. “Not in your life!”

“Ah, that’s a good one!” he laughed, softly, then he wrapped one arm around her waist and pushed himself further back on the bed, effortlessly carrying her with him. With the same ease, he flipped them over so she was laying on her back. He kissed her again, slow and deep, and Diana felt herself melt against him, her body seeking his, his warmth and the feeling of safety that came with it. Diana had to constantly remind herself that he wasn’t the same person she had loved, that she was only scratching an itch but no matter how hard she tried, the illusion was there to fool her, and steal her breath away with just a look. 

It was magical, and Diana wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad kind of magical. For all she knew, this new version of Steve Trevor was a sick joke some God or other entity conjured to mock her and make her relieve her worst nightmares, but whoever was responsible for this, she was borderline thanking him or her.

Because, even without their shared memories, somehow Steve Trevor was back in her life, alive, made of solid flesh, and he was making love to her again. 

* * *

Later that night, steve slept soundly in her bed, and she was standing in front of the window, watching as the snow fell outside the thick glass panel. Paris was getting blanketed in a thick layer of white crystals. 

It felt like a joke. 

In a moment of sentimentality, she had donned his sweater when she had got out of bed. It was soft and warm, but most of all, it carried his scent.  _ Her _ Steve had smelled of a variety of things, sweat, gunpowder and salt when she had met him, Themysciran artisanal soap when they had left, cologne and shaving soap when they were in London. In Belgium, everything, even the acrid stink of sweat that permeated everyone in their group, was covered by the general stench of death and desperation of the trenches. Each different scent he had smelled on him had come back to her, in the past one hundred years, ghost whiffs here and there that always brought back the painful memories of the man.

This was different, but at the same time, familiar. This Steve smelled of bland deodorant, neutral soap and shampoo and a nondescript but not too bad cologne, very faint. There were hints of shaving foam, but it wasn’t scented. Whatever detergent he or his laundry service used it was nice, but not overwhelming. It was almost like he didn’t want to be recognized by the way he smelled. It was a nice change, considering that most of her male colleagues tended to wear too much perfume, to the point they stunk with it. Instead, this Steve simply smelled clean. 

With a sigh, Diana pulled the hem of the sweater up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Yes, new and familiar at the same time. Just like the owner of that garment. 

Even the way he made love to her, it was both old and new, at the same time. His hands had callouses, like  _ her _ Steve’s, but they were different. He too had a stubble, but it scratched differently.  _ Her _ Steve had been sweet but decisive, this Steve was also sweet and decisive, but he was slightly more aggressive, like he was challenging her. Only the way he had gently cupped her face and kissed her after she had come down from the high of her orgasm was the same. He had held her close to him, his forehead pressed against hers, just waiting for her to give him permission to move again.  _ Her _ Steve had done the very same, that one night they shared together in Veld. It was such a small thing to think about, a tiny detail that many would have just forgot, but she had carried it in her heart for a hundred years, a fond memory of the man that had changed her life forever. She had never expected to see the very same gesture from him, and when she had realized, she had almost sobbed so emotional she had got. 

Diana chuckled, at her own sentimentalism. The Gods had some strange ways to mess with the lives of their creatures. 

“Oh, it’s snowing.” 

She turned around and faced the bed. Steve was awake, trying to stifle a yawn while he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes, it started a while ago.”

He took a deep breath and relaxed on the pillow beneath his shoulders. “Been up long?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I was thirsty and I stopped to look out for a while, just that.” 

He too shook his head. “Liar.” Then he extended his hand. “Come here, I can see something's bothering you.” 

With a sigh, Diana moved back on the bed, where he pulled up the thick duvet to let her sneak beneath the covers with him. “Nothing’s worrying me, Steve,” she told him as he sneaked an arm behind her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “Just… I get melancholic when it snows.” 

“Bad memories?” he inquired.

“No, quite the contrary. Just long gone.” 

“An old lover?” 

She nodded, resting her head on his chest. “Yes. Another place another time.”

Diana felt him draw a deep breath and hold it for a long moment. “I think I’m never going to wash that sweater.” 

Looking up at him, she made a puzzled face. “Why?”

“Well… Wonder Woman wore it! I think I’m going to keep it as a relic.” 

“I bet you can make good money if you sell it.” 

“That’s not exactly what I’m thinking. I’d be more inclined to keep it in a box, protected, so once in a while I could open it and remember that Diana Prince let me make love to her, one winter night in Paris.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a one night stand though,” she added. 

Steve gave her a lopsided smiled. “Do you want to, though? I’d be more than willing to but what about you?” 

She felt a sudden wave of panic rush through her veins like icy water. “What about me?” 

“I don’t know Diana…” Again, he took a deep breath. “I can’t really understand why, but I feel like I already know you. Like I’ve known you all my life, like we go way back than meeting in A.R.G.U.S. conference room with Amanda Waller and General Swanick introducing us, like we’ve spent more time together than just three dates, two of them business related. It’s something deeper, something I felt immediately, when I shook your hand back in Washington. I don’t know what it is that makes me feel this way, but you do. I know you do, it’s written in your eyes, but I just can’t read the language. And it’s bothering you. You smile and laugh, but somehow, you’re not happy. There’s something in me that makes you suffer, and I can’t stand the thought that somehow I make you suffer. So yes, it’s all about you, if this night remains a one night stand or not,” he explained. “I don’t want to hurt you, even though I have no idea what I’m doing to make you suffer this way.” 

Shutting her eyes, Diana hid her face in the crook of his neck. The Gods had decided to punish her, sending him, a low blow she wasn’t ready to counter. He was  _ her _ Steve, but his memories were locked away. Those bastards…

She held her breath for a moment, pondering on what to do next. Tell him everything, showing him the evidence of his status of reincarnated soul, or try to enjoy the moment as it was, without tainting his existence with the knowledge? Either way, he would never regain his memories, but if he didn’t know, they could start over, build a new life together if they wished so. And damn Diana wanted to build something with him, it wasn’t just a vain moment of lust for her. If she told him, he might get scared, or worse, try to adhere to her ideal of Steve Trevor, turning himself into something he wasn’t. Despite the stark similarities, the two declinations of Steve Trevor weren’t exactly the split image of one another, and Diana would never allow anyone to turn themselves into something they weren’t to please someone else. 

Could she be that selfish to tell him about their past he didn’t remember?

“Diana?” he called. “Still here?” 

Apparently, yes, she could.

“Yes, I’m still here. It’s just… Steve, how much do you know about Greek Mythology?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing more than what I was taught in elementary school, unfortunately.” 

“I see, but I guess you’re familiar with the concept of reincarnation.” 

He gave her a quick nod. “Yes… but what does that have to do with this?” 

Disengaging from his embrace, she climbed over him until she could reach the nightstand. She opened the drawer and pulled a book out of it, a battered paperback edition of  _ A Princess Of Mars _ by Edgar Rice Burrows, and handed it to him. “Open it.” 

As he did, the old, thick yellowed pages opened in the middle of the book, to reveal and folded piece of paper. He took it out, careful not to break it since it showed signs of wear where the paper was bent, and unfolded it. 

It was another printout of the daguerreotype they had taken in Veld, the first one she had made years ago at the start of her quest to retrieve it from Luthor’s hands. It was frayed and faded, but still clear enough for him to see the man at her right. 

And damn those eyes, she could read everything in them, from the initial shock to fear and somehow anger. “That’s…” he gasped. “That’s me.” 

“Yes. And me. In Belgium, a few days before the end of The Great War.” 

“But…” He briskly ran a hand on his face. “How’s that possible?” 

_ Gods help me… _

“It all started on Themyscira, the island where I was born…” 


End file.
